Harry Potter and the Curse of Expectations
by debatechick
Summary: During the summer before his sixth year, Harry's forced to deal with events from last year and events yet to come. What lies ahead for him in his second to last year? Will he cave under pressure or defeat Voldemort once and for all?
1. Empty time

**Harry Potter and the Curse of Expectations**

"We love to expect, and when expectation is either disappointed or gratified, we want to be again expecting." Samuel Johnson

Chapter one: Empty Time

"Lost, yesterday, somewhere between sunrise and sunset, two golden hours, each set with sixty diamond minutes. No reward is offered for they are gone forever."  
_Horace Mann_

The sun jauntily jumped out from the trees, bright and glaring in Harry's eyes, but he remained unaffected starring out of the car's painstakingly clean window. Withdrawn, he focused on each passing tree and leaf, in an effort to avoid thinking of the present or future. On some plane of his mind, the fact registered that there was noise, and his physical space was being bombarded with thick fingers perturbing into his skin, but none of that seemed to register into reality.

He shouldn't even be here. He should at the mansion with Sirius. The image of him falling through the veil flashed through his mind again, forcing Harry to watch it again. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force the pictures out of his head. He couldn't afford to show any weakness here. The car stopped and Harry opened his eyes. The Dursley's house loomed before him and Harry took a sharp breath before opening the door and accepting his fate. Seeing the house sent a sort of veracity shock through him. He couldn't fool his subconscious anymore – this was where he was to stay for another six weeks.

Harry pushed open the door, mentally shaking himself. What was with him? Nothing had really changed. How long had he spent here, day after day, year after year? With absolutely no hope of anything getting better, of anything changing. Six years ago he was able to spend twelve months out of the year here; he should be able to confront a infinitesimal portion of that time on. But perhaps there is validity in the statement, 'ignorance is bliss'. Now that he truly came to terms with how good life could be, it made going back here to this almost worst. He had something to compare it to now.

He made his way up the stars blindly, dully taking in the immaculate settings that he was certain that he would have to maintain. He decided he could just spend his days locked inside his room, pouring over and memorizing his old text books and books he had taken from the Room of Requirement to look over during the summer.

His arm was suddenly yanked and he felt his body collide with the wall on the stairway. His head fell back and smashed into the wall.

"Have you even been listening you ungrateful freak?"

Harry focused on the man three times his size who was currently pressing him against the wall, while simultaneously squeezing the life out of his forearm.

"Sorry Sir, off in my crazy little world." Spat Harry back, and tried to get his other arm to his pocket for his wand.

He felt his head clash against the wall as Vernon gave him a hard shake. Before he had time to act, Vernon had his wand twirling in his short, fat pieces of skin that were poking out of his hand.

"Like hell I'm gonna let you run around with this – this, _devil's tool_ this summer." Vernon's chest puffed outward, spiraling Harry's stomach over in disgust at the image he created, "No sirrey. Things are going to start getting back to what they were, what they should be. Where do those freak friends of yours think they get off, telling me how to take care of _things_? When I was dealing with this… funny business the way it should be dealt with, you showed respect. It's high time I took care of _things_ again and ran this house the way it should be. You are obviously in need of a refresher course of who's the boss here."

Still in shock from losing his wand to a clumsy, stupid git like Vernon, Harry was no match for the 400 pound mass that was now yanking him down the stairs. Next thing he knew, he was being thrown underneath the stairway. Harry got up quickly and went to the door, only to hear the sickening, dreaded sound of the locks. He rubbed his head, and decided to sit; for if this place seemed small and cramped when he was ten, it was nothing compared to what space was left over when a 15 year old boy was encased inside it.

He swore and unconsciously rubbed at his scar, an odd habit he seemed to be developing. How did he wind up in here again? He couldn't even study in here. He was destined to battle Voldemort, the darkest wizard of all time, supposed to be the only one with the capabilities of defeating him. The world was obviously doomed; he wasn't even a match against his muggle uncle. He looked around, his eyes almost getting used to the pitch dark, and found the cord for the ceiling lamp. He heard a dry hollow click but the darkness remained. Exhausted, head throbbing, and hopeless; he fell into a much needed sleep.

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Time, Harry decided, was an impossible aspect to determine with no vantage point. But even with nothing to determine specific increments that had actually passed, it still rolled on, there was still 24 hours in a day. And Harry spent it trying any sort of wandless magic, and awakening from nightmares from the shooting pains his stomach insisted upon adhering to. Sleep, as troubled and encumbered with disasters as it was, proved a better activity then feeling the hunger and loneliness.

Harry tried to keep up blocking his mind from Voldemort, for if he ever got wind of the current situation his enemy currently was in, it would be open hunting season, with Harry the deer; alone and defenseless. But even the essentialness of this task didn't outweigh, after awhile, his physical capabilities. He was week. He couldn't remember being worse off in his life, and it was only accentuated by the hollow ache in his abdomen and his mouth, which had taken up to resembling a sheet of sand paper. He tried to run through hexes, curses, rhymes, spells, anything that would give him a grasp at meaningfulness; but eventually it was pointless. So the visions, the pictures, the nightmares began taking president over his time. His parents, Cedric, and Sirius haunted his time to remind him of the people he had failed.

One of those same nightmares was eventually interrupted in the period that followed with an explosion of light and sound.

"Get up you lazy freak!" Shrieked Petunia, bringing with her the unwelcome flash of daytime brightness, "Here Vernon thought you were learning! Contemplating how to do better and help us more."

Harry's senses went into overload from the unaccustomed use. His eyes burned in the light and he was sure his ears were ringing. The salvo continued as he felt himself get wrenched up. He heard a nauseating pop, followed by a slow burn and Harry realized his arm was dislocated. Petunia threw him out of the cupboard.

"Get to work scrubbing the kitchen. Obviously hard work is the only way to install any discipline."

"But –"Harry tried.

"Get to it!" He was pushed to the floor in front of a bucket.

Harry took the sponge in his right hand and tried obeying. Sitting on his knees, with his bad arm laying vulnerably on top of his legs, Harry focused pushing the sponge back and forth across the pristine floor. As his head, stomach, and shoulder burned together in an anomalous unison, he strived to focus just on the up and down momentum. It wasn't a particularly hard motion; he could execute it.

Eventually, apparently content that her nephew wasn't going to step out of line and try some 'funny business', Aunt Petunia left Harry; and he returned to a different sort of loneliness. Halfway across the floor, Harry couldn't stand the hunger anymore, made worse by being forced to stay in the kitchen. Not by coincidence either, Harry assumed bitterly. He was quite positive that the Dursleys knew exactly how being in the kitchen would affect him. He rummaged soundlessly in the cupboard he was already kneeling next to. He blindly consumed packages of food, not bothering to even read the labels. He put his mouth to the faucet and drank at it for minutes.

He set to work on the floor with a renewed restored vigor. Not even a minute latter, Vernon came waltzing through, leaving Harry to believe that there really was a God. Any earlier entrance, by even two minutes, would have resulted in much trouble.

"That's it boy, hard work will teach you. Get up now." Vernon uttered, grabbing the collar of his shirt and jerking him up to accentuate his point, "I believe those freaks of yours will want to be hearing from you. How about I assist you, to prevent any _misunderstandings_, hmm?"

Vernon dragged him over to a desk and shoved him in a chair. Harry closed his eyes as he felt Vernon's hot, sticky breath on his skin, watching his every move. Harry scribbled out a letter – addressing it to all of Ron's family, saying that everything was just peachy, and not to expect much as far as communication from his end because he didn't feel like talking. Acrimoniously Harry laughed to himself. Vernon had no reason to really read his letters. Did he actually think he was going to confess that he was letting a couple of muggles kick the crap out of him? Nobody would probably even believe him. Harry Potter doesn't waiver in fights against _Voldemort_, what's a couple of worthless smelly muggles?

As the next week dragged on, Harry became slightly reliant on the starvation pains and miscellaneous kicks the Dursley's would freely give out. Being in pain physically, he was able to black out any emotions that would occasionally threaten him if he got too comfortable. It also pushed aside any guilt. If he was in pain, he shouldn't feel guilty, his conscience crazily concluded. Most days Sirius's name didn't even pop into his mind at all, so concerned and obsessed with either finding food or ice for a bigger bruise; it was just the nights.

Harry wondered ideally one day, shining the sparkling silverware to an even sharper shimmer, if permanent damage could set in from an unset dislocation. Not an actual cause for a _concern_, more just a _curiosity_. He caught an image of himself on one of the surfaces, causing him to bring up the name that constant pain was able to usually shut out. His features seemed to take on Sirius's after prison, a fact that was hard to ignore so readily. Long stubble ran along his jaw line and upper lip and his overgrown hair clung in odd directions.

Several loud pops shattered Harry's thoughts instantly. He turned with the silver dish he was polishing still in hand, and flung it at the intruder. Upon seeing the enemy, he took a step back however. A cluster of horrifyingly beautiful women, perfect with their long shimmering strait strands of golden tinted hair and pale translucent skin, except for the two long white teeth sticking out from in between two plump red lips. The five inched closer, slowly spreading out. Harry threw more objects at them in a disastrous desperate defense, his body snapping out of the trance that their beauty had woven instantly, upon spotting their teeth. He dimly remembered Hermione reciting a passage once on vampires, but these creatures aligned nowhere near the description. They were supposed to be almost magic-less, except for the ability to transfigure themselves into bats. And nowhere did it even _hint_ at how visually _appealing_ they could look, Harry offhandedly remarked to himself as they reached him. He no longer was going to trust anything books had to say, he firmly decided as one ran her sharpened fingers down his cheek. It burned, and only when he felt another one start licking at it did he realize it drew blood. He felt another scrape against his nourish craving abdomen, and felt somewhat lightheaded. If he had to die, he supposed, felling fuzzy, there were certainly worse ways.

In another haze, he realized someone was screaming, and another one of the creatures was now lapping at his stomach. It flipped upon assimilating this and he was sure if he had any food in his stomach, it would have been promptly vomited up at this point. In another blur, it came to his attention that people were entering the room; people, he furthered gathered watching one of the creatures fall, with wands. His people, he thought happily. His freaks, he bubbled lovingly, sputtering a laugh. He fell to the floor, and concurred to himself that he was quite content with watching the ceiling lights and the design of the tiles around them.

His rescuers came into view, and he closed his eyes. Definitely two of the people he would like least to see him in this state. His dignity was now damned. Why couldn't it be a group of nameless Order members? He felt himself being picked up and his head pounded.

"We should apparate straight to St. Mungos." Tonk's voice insisted. Harry rolled his head in an attempt to shake his head no.

"Dumbledore explicitly expressed not to bring Harry out of the protective wards." Bill replied.

"That was _before_ the attack, _before_ the wards were compromised."

"It still holds more protection then most places." Bill argued. Harry realized he was being hauled up the stairs. "Get Madame Pompfrey here; tell her to bring all she can, and alert Dumbledore as well."

"It would be better if he went there." Tonks decided, but Bill saw her half heartedly scrawling out a note as he laid Harry in the untouched bed.

Harry coughed, holding his stomach in fear it might split open.

"What, was everybody on babysitting duty?" He made out, trying to sound angry, trying to use that to cover the embarrassment of Ron's older brother seeing him like this. He could only look down though, at the floor on the other side of the bed, which severely cancelled out the effectiveness of his words. He shifted his weight uncomfortably when he got wind that Bill was taking his rugged appearance, with his steady, intelligent eye.

"Just relax Harry. Madame Pompfrey should be here soon." Harry heard Bill whisper and felt his hand go to his shoulder, in an attempt for support. As his hand dipped down though, feeling the empty joint, he snapped his hand back, "Everything is going to be fine." He insisted again.

Madame Pompfrey came in a rush of movement with Dumbledore not to far behind. Immediately he fell in love with her, as her first demand was that everyone leaves the room. He could have cried in happiness. No offhanded sympathetic painful looks. No gut clenching expressions. The embarrassment started to fade from his checks as he saw her enlarge her bag and come to him.

"Vampires now, hmm Mr. Potter?" She remarked dully, trying to inject irritation into her voice for him, as she waved her wand across his face. The cuts erased instantly.

"Thanks." Harry ground out.

"Nonsense." Harry heard her declare as his shirt was raised. He watched her wave her wand again and mumble something, and he guessed she healed that mark as well. Huger has a funny way of insisting though, and no pain was lifted. He felt her hands linger in a few spots, followed by cool glob being spread over a couple of places, followed by being bandaged.

Harry studied her face carefully, as she came back up the bed and begun looking at his shoulder. It was next to impossible though to tell from her professional set face, whether she knew yet that half his injuries weren't sustained today. He saw her tap it a few times, then frown.

"Mr. Potter, how long has your arm been like this?" Her voice came out soft and urging.

"I don't know." Mumbled Harry, looking back down to his place on the floor. Where was her strict demanding tone when you really needed it?

"More then a week?" She urged again lightly.

"Yea."

She humphed and Harry smiled, feeling like some normality had returned. He began swallowing different potions that she kept pressing against his lips. The last one seemed to tug at his eyelids almost instantly, and Harry realized she had given him a sleeping potion of some kind. The last thing he made out before darkness set in, was his glasses being so delicately taken off, so in contrast to any action that was displayed to him these last few weeks, that tears almost formed again in his closed green eyes.


	2. The best part of waking up

Chapter 2: The best part of waking up

I have nothing to offer but blood, toil, tears and sweat.

_Sir Winston Churchill_

Harry awoke with a start; and immediately wished he hadn't. Like a silent movie events from before rolled through his mind. Everything at once started to ache as he was reminded of his injuries. He wished he had a time turner right about now. Even being confronted with those creatures was preferable than facing the upcoming conflict. He didn't want everyone to know how weak he was. Maybe he could play off his injuries to his magical attackers. Would that work? Maybe everyone could just pretend along with him. Carry on like everything was okay. It's not as though that would be an entirely new concept. Dumbledore's calm explanation of the deadly ultimatum proved how much people could delude themselves. Voldemort or him. One or the other. One murderer, one dead. And there was actually some percentage of Dumbledore's brain that thought he would win? Just look at past experience. Only one of them ever had any practice killing- and it sure wasn't him. At least directly…

Sirius began to tumble through the veil behind his eyelids. Then suddenly it wasn't Sirius, but Cedric.

"I know you're up." Chimed a voice.

Harry took a sharp, spontaneous breath in from the combination of both the physical intrusion into his isolation, and the image his imagination italicized on his proverbial slideshow.

"I told you so."

Groggily his brain tried to grasp and identify the voice. He mentally rolled through the names he knew, searching for a match like a slot machine randomly rolling through the random choices for the last selection. The wheel abruptly stopped; Ginny.

"No I'm not."

He became aware that his mouth seemed to answer for him, not allowing the message to pass through his brain first; because Harry instantly characterized the comment as insane, and not at all accomplishing what he wanted to do. Sulking, he tried sinking into his pillows and wished he could evaporate. What was the use of having an invisibility cloak if you can't use it for moments like these?

"Really?" He realized offhand and after the fact, that Ginny had poked him, "It looks like Harry-"

"Not Harry. Looks are very deceiving. Harry's not here." His mouth seemed to want to continue the chimera.

"Bloody hell! I better get Tonks and Bill to deal with this imposter-!" Harry actually heard her jump up and start to scramble to the door, forcing him into a response.

"Ginny." His voice was a plead, which was the only thing that made her drop the act completely, and save him from the merciless teasing his comments should have mustered.

He felt a hand on his forehead, brushing his damp disheveled charcoaled hair aside. His breath caught again and his body involuntarily jerked back at the foreign contact. While he tried to think of the way a normal way to react to whatever she was doing he felt cool metal slide against his skin, which his brain lethargically learned as his glasses.

"Shh, I'm just giving you you're glasses." She confirmed.

"Why are you here?" His lips let out, entirely on it's own accord. It seemed none of his body was connected to his mind, and it was really starting to get quite infuriating.

It was on the tip of her tongue to just call him a git, and that she could just leave him and his unawake self alone, to undoubtedly broad about everything, until he found a way to blame it on himself; but she reined it in. It wasn't that he didn't care about her feelings, she decided eventually evaluating the situation and his responses, rather he didn't expect her to be concerned about him.

"Because I care." The words fell off her tongue, before logic could interfere and change the statement to take away some of the scary implications it held. It's response was immediate however. She was rewarded with the disclosure of two bright green orbs, hidden behind hideous black, conspicuously spherical frames, that had more tape showing through then actual metal.

He was rewarded with a slight he had thought he would never see; a flustered, insecure Ginny. He knew all the signs all right, he certainly was not a stranger to the emotion, and she was gloriously displaying them all. Her eyes didn't hold his, they were cast downwards, making her hair cascade down her shoulders in a bright red stream, and capture the light in the room. She held her bottom lip with a small, perfect white tooth, changing the color to a slightly deeper red. Following her gaze, he watched as her hands seemed to take on a life of their own, moving in little, inconsequential gestures, that spoke volumes to her state of mind. Everything Ginny did was deliberate. Oddly, it filled him with some sort of fake sense of confidence.

"What I mean-" Ginny started, looking up, trying to draw in on a confidence and determination that wasn't there, in a desperate intent to nullify it, change it to fall along the lines of a safe platonic friendship-- until she caught his eyes. Instantly they went from hope to despair, and her voice refused to go on. How could she take away that truth from him? And that's what it was- the categorical, complete, unedited certain truth. Truth was that she had always held him a little differently in her mind, a little better, on some unattainable plain that she secretly always wished she could reach. So who was she to deny him that? The words were already out. She sighed, then swallowed.

"What I mean," She started again, with a fixed, determined stare, "is exactly that. That Bill rushed in, reeling about an attack, an attack against you, and the only place I could be and feel half way all right was right here."

Ginny watched as his eyes became unfocused, trying to deal with what she just said.

"You don't have to say anything. I just wanted you to know." She allocated after a few seconds hesitation, waiting for a response.

Her voice was soft and sounded like music to him. He swallowed hard. Why did this have to happen right now? He was still trying to deal with last night, still trying to concoct a story about his shoulder, still trying to wake up. He closed his eyes, wishing this conversation took place after he had just caught the snitch to win the house cup, or at least at an emotionally _neutral _point. It didn't even have to be a high point; just not one of the lowest points in his life. Not when he couldn't even tell left from right, up from down. But he couldn't just ignore this new development. This couldn't be left until latter. She had said it now. And he needed to respond now, or never.

"It's not that Gin." He responded, picking up her reasoning for proclaiming the last sentence.

He felt her look up and he opened his eyes.

"It's not that I don't feel that too. I just-" He sighed and slowly clasped her hand, if nothing else to still her movements, "Me too."

He frowned as she appeared to become more disheveled. He had thought this disclosure would make her happy, would relieve the tension that seemed to be releasing from her in waves.

"You- you don't have to just say that. It's not your job to make everybody feel better. I know you don't feel-"

"Gin, that might just be the most difficult thing I've ever admitted in my life. Please don't just throw it away." He cut in quietly.

There was silence for a few seconds.

"I thought a declaration of feeling such like this would be accompanied with some sort of happiness, or hug, or some sort of positive emotion at least." Harry conversationally concluded, breaking through the silence stochastically.

Ginny moved to the bed. A short sob broke through. "I- I just never thought… I never imagined that you would possibly feel the same way too."

Harry looked down at his hand that was so casually clasped in hers and contemplated offhandedly how things had progressed so quickly. He looked back up and caught Ginny's eyes.

"How are you feeling?" She whispered, her voice still seeming to hold some lyrical lull.

The question was phrased lightly, but it had an immediate effect. He looked back down. He felt Ginny take his chin in her free hand and brought his head up.

"You're already my hero. You don't have to act strong all the time."

"I'm not trying to be. I'm so confused I don't know how to feel."

"What hurts?"

"My head."

Suddenly Ginny's lips were on his forehead, but before he could even register this fact, they were gone.

"What else?"

"I- I'm not sure this is the best idea."

"How does you're head feel now?"

"Dizzy."

"A little bit of an improvement." He heard her murmur softly before she repeated the action. "How about now?"

"We may be getting somewhere." Harry caved in, only able to grasp how soft and wet her lips were, and how he needed them to be touching his skin again. He was rewarded with another one. He tried to clear his mind and let Ginny's magic work, but he couldn't get the apprehension and fear for the upcoming explanation he would surely have to deliver out of his mind.

"What's wrong?" She asked a few minutes and kisses latter.

His thoughts tumbled into trepidation. He wasn't sure if he could get used to this discloser of every feeling that happened to pass through his brain. Was this what it felt like to be close to someone? A excruciating extraction of every fleeting emotion and happenstance? Another part of his mind reminded him of the benefit's the last revelation had earned him. If he got those kisses just for a headache…

"I don't want to explain to everyone what happened." Harry concluded.

She seemed to think this through tenaciously for a few moments. "Why?"

"I don't want to have to justify and explain myself to everyone."

"Those things attacked you, what is there to justify? You're an underage wizard forbidden to use any magic over the summer.

"I still should have don't something." Harry responded, not to the creatures attacking at all.

"An aura and my brother don't have a clue what those creatures were, they guessed on how to possibly defend themselves. How could you be expected to know?"

He sighed and laid back. He definitely didn't want to get into this conversation. Didn't want to tell her that he wasn't talking about the way he responded to the creatures. He felt Ginny align herself against his body. It seemed that every nerve ending against her was in overdrive. He opened his eyes incredulously. Her face hovered inches above his, their hands still linked.

"Impressive Mr. Potter. Two full admittances without any brooding. You can be taught."

"Are you making fun of me?"

"Most certainly."

He stared at her. "I think a recovering attackie from demon women exempts me from any teasing."

"Of coarse not."

"When was this decided?"

"Just now."

He sighed. He felt Ginny sit back up, resulting in only their hips touching. The rest of his side instantly felt cold, missing the connection.

"I'll tell you anything, just lay back down. "Harry reluctantly quirked.

He caught her eyes flash with an emotion he couldn't quite determine, then she was next to him again. She fit her head just above his shoulder and let the hand that wasn't clasped fall onto his chest. She began to absentmindedly amuse herself with the fabric on it. He felt a soft kiss on the skin connecting his neck to his shoulders.

"Is this what you want Mr. Potter?"

"Yes." He hummed. He couldn't whether he felt hot or cold, numb or effervescent. All he knew was that he felt wonderful, and never wanted to go back to reality.

"How long do you think we have?"

"I don't know. I'm supposed to be on watch duty and notify someone if you wake up." She explained, immediately understanding that he meant when the others would come in. "Why?"

"I don't want to start explaining myself if I can't finish." Harry concluded logically.

"I'm not looking for an explanation Harry." She said and gave him a quick peck on his nose as he turned his head, " I just wanted to know what's wrong so I know what to kiss."

He smiled forlornly, and turned his head to stare at the ceiling. Eventually he took a quick breath.

"I don't know how to explain the injuries Vernon gave me."

He felt Ginny sit up a little and turn his face in her hand, so he closed his eyes. He couldn't get this off his chest with her sympathy.

"I don't know how I'll look anyone in the eye after they figure out I can't even defend myself against a muggle."

"Open your eyes Harry."

"Ginny I-"

"Open them."

He sighed and complied, completely content ready to close them and shut himself out as soon as he saw the pity; but recoiled slightly. Ginny met his gaze with steady blue eyes that raged with emotion. An emotion, if he wasn't mistaken, he could swear was anger.

"The only two people with any explaining to do are the sorry excuse for relatives fate has seemed to give you, and how they get off harming their nephew; and Dumbledore for not picking up on this problem and continuing to send you here."

"Not fate." His voice had hardly any volume at all, Ginny only recognizing he said something because her ear lay inches from his mouth.

"What?"

"Not fate." he affirmed again, speaking louder, somehow finding his voice, "Fate didn't land me at the Dursley's."

Her eyes became more steeled. "You're right. There's three people."

"People?"

"Yes, he's a person. A horrible, evil, conniving, soulless person, but a person Harry. A person with the same human qualities as you and I. A person who's flawed, fallible, who can make mistakes; and will, and who bleeds."

"Are you certain?"

"He can be defeated."

"So am I. More so then him, that's for sure." He took a shallow breath as the prophecy progressed through his mind. Some voice in his head told him it would be the perfect time to tell her, but something stopped him.

"You're right. That _must_ be why you've faced him over five times and have won."

"I've prolonged destiny. I've bought time. I've-"

"Lived. You've lived."

Anger started to simmer silently and slowly insider of him, threatening to bubble out, boiling over. He tried quelling it for a few seconds, then disembarked unequivocally from that mission. He needed to shout at someone. He dropped her hand. "No! You don't get it! You know anything about it!"

"Then tell me!" She retorted right back at the same intensity and volume he used, then took a breath to calm herself, "Tell me what you've been keeping bottled up this summer. Tell me what you've found out that's so scary you wont even tell your closest friends."

She watched wearily as his eyes filled up with horror and shock, and she stopped her soliloquy. There was so much she wanted to let out, so much she wanted to ask him; but now was obviously not the right time. Her heart contracted as she saw him shakily stand and slowly swathe his arms, swimming in the oversized dark material, around his small waist. He wandered purposefully over to the window and Ginny gave him a minute before she followed him. She hesitated, then decided, wrapped her arms around him. She rested her head over his shoulder and gave him a little squeeze as she felt him stiffen at the contact.

"Maybe you should go." He articulated apprehensively, as a whisper that showed his emotions were balancing perilously on the edge of some cliff.

"You're not alone."

"Maybe I want to be."

"Nobody wants to be."

"Then maybe I have to be."

"Tell me." She urged, turning her head. She felt him become more tense.

"I don't know if I can do this Ginny." Harry turned around, and Ginny dropped her arms. "I don't know how. I never done any of this stuff. I'm no good at it."

"Then we'll learn together."

"What if I can't learn?" The words escaped his mouth.

She gave him a glorious grin. "I've already determined you can be taught."

She waited watching until his mouth fell into a slow smile. "You were fine lying on the bed earlier, right?"

"Yea." He said slowly remembering, "I don't know how to explain why that felt okay, and this…" He left the sentence alone, aggravated that he couldn't act normal even once.

"You don't have to. Caring about someone isn't defined as what you do while you're together, just that you're together."

"You deserve to have it all, not some guy going through the motions until he fulfills some decade old prophecy, who doesn't even remember what it feels like to have family." He closed his eyes at the admittance, and Ginny's eyes darkened slightly.

"Never mind about this prophecy you haven't told anyone about. Never mind your family. Never _even_ mind about your stupid bloody tendency to brood, the taking on the world's guilt, the moods-- everything. I care about you. What I deserve? I deserve a chance with the guy who rocks my world. The one I think about everyday, the one who saved me from Tom. I deserve you. Everyone has scars. Do you think I don't have doubts? That I'm flawless? What do I have to offer? The last child of a lower level ministry employee and housewife?"

"You think that's what I see when I look at you?" Harry whispered intently, incredulous.

"And do you think that's how I see you? A helpless orphan? The boy-who-lived?"

Harry opened his mouth to reply, but found helplessly that he had none, so he closed it. Ginny took his arms away from himself and enclosed herself in them instead. She hugged his hips, closing her eyes against his shoulders and sighed as she felt him grasp her in return. Neither said a word, each sort of in some sort of shock, afraid that any movement or speech would break them apart. Indeed it was neither one of their faults for the eventual disentanglement. So involved in each other as they were, not even the door opening broke them apart, only the words some seconds latter.

"Unbelievable."


	3. Revelations

Chapter three: Revelations

_"Power concedes nothing without a demand. It never did and it never will."_

_Frederick Douglass_

"Bloody unbelievable." George repeated again, now casually leaning against the door frame.

Harry and Ginny quickly dropped their arms, and took a step back even for good measure, but the damage had already been done. Ginny tried not to look guilty; and why should she? It's not like they were snogging or anything. She was simply giving support to a friend. She tried listening to George's rampage.

"Here I get intell that our dear Harry is perilously fighting for his life after some vela vamps, and lo and behold, I come in to check on my favorite investor, and he's making moves on my little sis." George dropped his arm languorously across Harry's shoulder's. "Now if you were me, what would you do?"

"There's been no 'moves'!" Snapped Ginny indignantly.

"Vela vamps?" Harry asked attentively.

"R--right. You haven't talked to anyone yet. And so you didn't hear that from me. But I think we are straying from the central issue here."

"No, I think that's exactly the issue. He's just been attacked --"

"Pretty damn convenient timing if you ask me." George looked contemplative for a second, "Sounds like something I would do actually…"

"You should get back to be Harry." Offered Ginny softly.

"Sure, sure. Now he should get back to bed." George made for the door, "Seemed fine a second age. Yea, I got your number Potter. Perhaps I'll go tell the _Order_ that Harry's _awake_, though I believe that was somebody else's task."

Harry and Ginny watched George leave. "You know he's never going to let us live that down." Ginny said a after a moment.

"Most definitely." Harry let his body relax in the bed and closed his eyes. The apprehension from before was slowly snaking it's way back into him. George was going to get someone form the _Order_. They were going to have _questions_. He was going to need _answers_. Soft smooth skin slid into his hand. Offhandedly he casually clutched Ginny's hand, for once glad to have someone understand.

He knew who walked in before they even had said anything. Even with his eyes closed, is brain submitted the mental image of what was happening to his subconscious. He saw Dumbledore stand at the doorway for a few moments, taking a clandestine careful check of circumstances for himself. Harry knew it was him, felt his gaze and felt Ginny's hand tighten in his own. The air seemed to crackle as he progressed purposefully into the room towards Harry's bed. Harry heard him sit down.

"Are you still in pain?" Spoke a soft steady voice.

"Nothing new sir." Harbored Harry dully, finally opening his eyes and meeting the antediluvian ones.

"I would think getting brutally attacked in you own home would constitute something new."

"Would you?" Harry held his gaze steady; palpably feeding into Ginny's strength from her hand that was still clasped tight in his. Harry saw him contemplating his words meticulously.

"Perhaps you could excuse us for a few seconds Miss Weasley."

"Yes, please Ginny, leave while the headmaster feeds me just enough to keep me going, while trying to disclose everything that's really happening; feeds me one more piece to some puzzle I'll have to fight, while they have the whole picture sitting right in front of them."

"You're lucky I take Muggle Studies Harry." Ginny grumbled getting up, "It's the only way I can tell you're not completely crazy yet. Puzzles indeed." She shut the door behind her.

"You're not alone in this Harry. I hope that you can realize your allies."

"How can you believe what you just said and the prophecy? They're exclusive to each other! I'm alone in this fight! I have the bloody scare, I'm the lucky one linked to his mutilated mind, my blood brought him back!"

"I can have faith. I can have faith that a 16 year old boy doesn't have to face this evil alone."

"Or rather you have me believe that, then when that final day comes, when my blood is being shed, and I find myself in a battle alone; in a fight I prepared to have allies in, what then? What then if I face a fight totally unequipped? Where in my mind there's dozens, but in reality there's two? And what has to happen to show you I'm not a boy? Or am I to die a boy in the eyes of the only friends I have?"

"I apologize. I look at you, and see a tiny driven body, and my mind wants to scream child. But nothing you have ever done has suggested that. Not even in the beginning."

Harry closed his eyes and half heartedly tried to get a grip on himself. He remembered in first grade they had to make mini tornadoes inside two two-litter bottles connected at the spout with water inside. They would shake it up and the spiral of water would form and swirl around inside. He felt exactly like that. Everyone just kept shaking the bottle and he couldn't stop spinning.

Some part of him didn't want to stop spinning. Some part of him didn't even want to talk to Dumbledore calmly and logically. He wanted to shout, and have stuff to throw again. He wanted to let all his emotions explode out so they didn't keep circling around and around inside his little bubble with no way of stopping. But another part of him, which sounded sneakily similar to Ginny, reasoned with his hazardous half and asked precariously what exactly would that accomplish? What would yelling yield? In the end, Harry still had to fight a losing battle. He'd still have no help. Why alienate and decry other people in the process?

"So how did they get through the wards?" Harry asked monotonously glancing back at him.

"There's an allowance for combined species to pass through." Harry found himself slightly amused at how Dumbledore seemed to launch into an explanation quickly, forgoing to even comment on his abrupt mood swing in order to fall upon a safe topic, "Three or four Auror members wouldn't be able to pass through if it weren't so, and the enemy was entirely human. What death eater was going to be half human? They're a tri-breed; vela, vampire, and human components. The wards picked up upon the human, but there was enough animal species for the new face to pass through…"

"I see. Where will I be carted off to now?"

"It had yet to be determined."

"You still think telling me posed a threat." Realized Harry instantly.

"I am hesitant at taking you away from your blood relatives.

Harry laughed suddenly. Of coarse he was considering not removing him from the Dursley's. Why not? What's a few cracked bones?

"I'm sure Voldemort will be happy." Harry harbored evenly.

"The wards will obviously be reinforced."

"Obviously."

"Unless there is something else?" Dumbledore asked simply.

Harry felt rage start to simmer as he realized the elder man's intensions. His first coherent thought was how could anyone be that daft? Quickly he attained that Dumbledore was trying to blackmail him into telling him what had happened. If he didn't explain in detail what had happened, he would be forced to stay at the Dursley's. Well, he wouldn't be played.

"Just as long as you figure out how to reinforce it. Some protection when those creatures can manage to almost kill me in three minutes flat. Voldemort himself couldn't even manage that."

Harry divulged Dumbledore seemed to pause for a second, then slowly nod. "Of coarse. It is being done as we speak."

"Then I suppose we're done here then, aren't we Sir?" Harry asked innocently.

"If there is nothing else…." He tried again, slowly rising.

Harry almost spluttered out a laugh. He managed to control himself somehow.

"What else is there for me to know?" Challenged Harry suddenly, still trying to reining himself in. Oh, the things he wanted to say.

"For what more can you risk Voldy hearing?" The last bitter statement seemed to break through as Dumbledore left.

Ginny seemed to immediately stream in. She stopped halfway to him.

"What's wrong?" She demanded.

Harry tried shaking his head and shrugging one shoulder nonchalantly. Suddenly Ginny had his head in her hands. "We're passed that. If he said something… headmaster or not, I know quite a lot of good hexes that will make him apologize for weeks."

"I'm just a bloody weapon to him." Harry whispered distantly, barely listening to Ginny.

"I see. Well, I'll let you pick which one I use then."

Harry tried to smile at her attempt to lighten up the mood, but his throat seemed to clog up. Suddenly he couldn't breathe. He took a gasp of breath in recovery. He felt Ginny maneuver herself behind him. Her warm hands touched his shoulders slightly, delicately, and started moving in slow circles. At first he thought he should protest because his shoulder was still sore, but he quickly assessed that her ministrations were helping it immensely.

"Shh, take it easy." She lulled.

He shivered as he felt her soft voice wrap around him and her lips touch the base of his neck. It felt deliriously delightful, sinful and innocent all at once. He wasn't sure if he should be letting this happen, but right now he really didn't care. Dumbledore was using him, but Ginny was loving him; or at least the closest thing to that he had ever felt.

"Is this to much for you?" Her voice gushed out in a melodically murmur next to his ear.

His head immediately shook no, as his throat seemed to become more closed. His body shivered as he felt her mouth open on his skin. A moment or two latter he groggily grasped how much Ginny was giving, and he wanted to reciprocate. He arched around in a sudden, jerky move, that was ridiculously categorical of Harry.

"Sorry." Ginny offered, assuming she went too far.

He wrapped his hands around her hips and hauled her closer. He let his lips fall on hers without thinking in a deliberate delicate action. They touched and it was like coffee and cream coming together. He broke away abruptly, discerning what he had just done. "Sorry." He uttered immediately.

Ginny reached out and cradled his head in her hands and let her lips touch his again. Her tongue escaped her mouth and ran along his lips. "Sorry." She gasped, pulling back momentarily.

Her resolve melted away and she let her lips roam down the hollow of his throat. He repeated the act eagerly on her. Her skin tasted like grapefruits and frosting and he loved it. He rested his forehead against hers dazed.

"Want to try to tell me again?"

"How about you just kiss me again instead?"

"That bad?"

He ran his thumb distractingly in smooth strokes against her hips. "I'm staying at the Dursley's."

"No, you're not. My mom's outraged you're here right now… I think everyone knows," She paused slowly watching him, "Subconsciously at least, what happened."

"I asked where I was going. He said they're working on the wards… unless there was something else."

"You're not staying here."

"I'm not giving in to his bloody manipulations."

She smiled crookedly. "You've been hanging around Ron to long. In any event." She affirmed finally getting back on topic, "I'm going to inform my mom. She'll at least start something."

Harry opened his mouth, about to say that all she'll do is cause a fuss, then eventually cave in to the all knowing Dumbledore; but he finally managed to completely control his mouth and he just thanked her.

"I'll see you latter."

"What about Dean?" Harry asked suddenly.

"What about him?"

:On the train," Harry elaborated worry starting to overcome him, "You said--"

Ginny laughed and it hypnotized his worry away somehow. "I was just saying that to get a rise out of Ron."

"Oh.."

He heard her laugh again, and saw her come back over. "Why Harry? Are we dating?"

He felt himself blush, and he couldn't fathom why he could be able to snog her earlier without a twinge of red or remorse, but then one simple word could send his emotions spiraling out of control.

"Yes?"

"Yes? Have you asked me?"

"You're really going to make me ask?" Harry iterated incredulously.

"No special boy-who-lived waver Potter. You have to endure the same rigorous expectations as everyone else."

"I see." Harry took a gulp of air.

'_It shouldn't be this hard_.' He reasoned rationally through his thoughts. '_She already said yes._' He knew the answer already was in the affirmative. They had just kissed! So why was he so nervous?

"Would you go out with me Ginny?"

He watched her lips draw up into a sly smile similar to an expression he had witness the Weasley twins adorn on a few mischievous occasions. He knew he was in trouble.

"Out where?" She asked, seemingly innocently.

"Anywhere you want." Determined Harry quickly.

"Anywhere?" She repeated, drawing the word out, and changing it to make Harry think he didn't want to agree to the whole encompassment of the word anymore.

"Within reason." He clarified, settling himself comfortably to a more moderate ground.

"That's a whole different story. Where would you like to take me?" She challenged.

Instantly the stuffy, hideously pink and heart shaped propaganda filled café cluttered his mind. Holding back a grimace he replied, "Madam Puddifoots."

"Wow, you must really like me. When are you going to take me?"

"First chance that I'm released from this barracks."

"I'm going to hold you to that Potter." Her lips came down on his once more. "I'm going to see what's going on as to how fast and where we're loading you."

"I'm going to hold you to that Gin."

She laughed and lightheartedly left, looking for cohorts. Harry laid back, a large smile across his face for no reason at all, and finally let himself submerge into unconsciousness.

A/N

Thanks to anyone who has been reading this so far. Triple majors stink something rotten: note to anyone seeking this-- don't try it if you wish to have any life whatsoever. That being said, all my exams/labs/projects/papers are now officially complete and I should be posting relatively quickly from now on. If nothing else, just to ease my guilt about how slow the first three came out. Off to write some more...


	4. Potions and Pasts

**Chapter four: Potions and pasts**

"The past is not dead. In fact, it's not even past."

William Faulkner

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"I wish you would come in with us."

She tilted her head up towards the plea, hand resting as a makeshift visor against the southern sun, "I'm fine here."

"I know you're _fine _here; I just wish you'd come in with us."

"I have to finish this."

"I know for a fact you've read that one already."

"I've read it. I haven't outlined it yet."

"Why didn't you do that when you read it?"

"I wouldn't have grasped it as a _whole_ then." She responded instantaneously, as if that were the most evident thing in the world, "Besides, it's easier now that I know what he's talking about."

"Whose 'he'?"

"Edwin Gersh. Genius at potions."

"And you have to memorize everything before the term even starts?"

"I need to be prepared." Hermione offhandedly laughed, "Especially in potions."

"And potions would be exactly-?"

"Hermione squinted her eyes in thought, "Sort of like chemistry times ten."

"Ah. This stuff never ceases to boggle my mind." Her father replied with a soft smile at his studious daughter, "and you're sure about the water?"

"Positive."

She watched resignedly as her father turned around and joined her mother in the salty sea water. She looked back down to her loquacious large book, and went back to outlining it, and everything that got in chapter nine's path. She still had one of Snape's essay's left to do. Hermione had told Ron in a letter, that it was because she was dreading it. She glanced conspiratorially at how to use Limeweed to prevent the effects of a stinging curse. She smiled as she reviewed how to prepare it, and the unfortunate disadvantage of only lasing a week. She realized it was the absolute opposite.

She had always liked to save the best for last. That's why History of Magic went first. She grimaced in disgust. 'Why Thyne rebellions will never work out', was a particularly pointless task, she remembered dismally. She could preach all she wanted to her less then studious cohorts about the value of learning one's past; but there were some areas where this certainly didn't apply. Thynes were a near microscopic breed of fairies that were more pompous then twenty centaurs. Apparently, they spent their lives mercilessly mad at the Wizarding population for imploring the term _globalization_. Yearly it seemed, they staged a revolt to reclaim some land. Shockingly every single one of those times have been remarkably unsuccessful.

She started a new outline for '50 different prevention potions'. She didn't particularly want to use it, but if push came to shove and she somehow found herself running short, she could always add it in the middle as a last resort. She explained to her paper how to cut it; a frustratingly and tedious task of cutting the already narrow beige stalks lengthwise. After cutting the strip into twelve pieces, you were supposed to slowly stir it counterclockwise sixteen times in a solution of boiling Boly brains; a curiously shaped flower that held an odd liquid filled bubble above it's flower, which was regarded as their main functioning system, as each one shrieked upon de-bubbling it, and promptly disincarnated.

She started to try and find out what was significance of each step; something she tried to make sure she knew, so she could understand why to do each step, and therefore not forget a single step. The Boly brains were easy, it was the same base 40 percent of protection potions were. Easily obtainable, cheap, and a natural blocker, it was always an easy choice. She wondered distractedly what the brains would protect against if you just heated them without adding anything. She made a swift scribble at the side of her spiral. The Limeweed is to target the central nervous system, she found out referencing 'Herbs for the everyday potion maker'. The eight lengthwise cuts however, was a bit of a challenge. She tried taking out '300 weird ways witches use weeds'. A few pages into it Dorothy Dunkid delved into it.

"Limeweed has the unique ability to infuse itself within the very nerve endings of ones person," She read out loud to her towel and virgin Shirley Temple, "This property has hundreds of potential uses, particularly in protection potions where the given curse targets the nerve endings. In 1584 Rubes Glitchon experimented with adding it to gorilla's milk, which creates an elasticity to rebound of the nerve, after 2 months of constant observation at a steady temperature. Why he would try that particular combination is still being researched today, as it might prove an insightful look at several compulsive disorders."

Hermione transferred that tidbit tediously into large protection potion outline, making a special column for gorilla's milk. She would research _that _particular base latter, she concluded hesitantly. She consulted the next paragraph.

"Cutting it lengthwise enables the Limeweed to create a physical barrier separating the nerve from any number of different harmful effects. Cutting it in four strips protects against heat, six cold, eight inflation, ten shrinking, twelve stinging, and fourteen burning."

Hermione filled it all down on her chart, then picked up the original Gersh book again. She happily returned to her reading, jotting down one protection plant here, crossing of another potion there.

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"Why can't I go?" Ron asked again, angry now.

"Whining is not going to work. And you just can't." Affirmed Mrs. Weasley, too distracted with preparing diner to come up with a real excuse to placate him.

"Oh sure, but it was all right for Ginny to go."

"Ginny left when Bill left, which was before _I _came home. And she returned ages ago, as _soon_ as I got home, because had I been here, she would have never left either."

"But that's not fair! He's my friend!" Ron heedlessly hollered.

"What? And he's not your sisters?"

"That's not what I meant." Ron waved his hand exasperated.

"Really." Mrs. Weasley replied dully.

"I'm his best friend."

"Imagine that." Mrs. Weasley continued to cook, unaffected by her youngest son's outrage.

"It's not fair." Repeated Ron resoundingly.

"You're not going over to that horrible house. Ginny should never had gone, and she _very_ well knows that. Harry is coming over here anyways. You'll see him then."

"Yea, like Dumbledore is going to let that happened." Murmured Ron caustically.

"_Professor _Dumbledore is going to do whatever can most protect him. There's nothing you can do about that. Why don't you try something productive for a change and start some of your essays."

"That's ages away." Scoffed Ron.

"I bet Hermione has them done."

"I bet Harry doesn't."

"Follow Hermione's role then."

"She doesn't count; she likes doing them." Reasoned Ron, "And I know for a fact she hasn't even started Snape's yet."

"Just think. You could beat her too it."

"Not happening." Assured Ron.

"Pity to think that she'll come over with all her essays done, and you'll have them all to do when you three could be outside with each other." She piped in offhandedly.

Out of the corner of her eye she caught him rolling that around in his mind, and she couldn't help the sideways smile that slid onto her face. Ron left, and Molly felt confidant for one of the first times, that Ron would not only finish all his homework; but finish early.

She turned around as she heard someone apparate in. She glanced over her oldest son's lanky form. "Anything new? Has he budged?"

Bill looked furious. "I don't know what sick game he's playing at. It's obvious that his shoulder was broken at least a week ago, he's severely dehydrated, exhausted, and the areas of skin that you can see that's not covered up with a shirt eight sizes too big for him is spotted with bruises. He's be sending him to his death keeping him there."

Her own growing frustration stopped her from chiding Bill about speaking about his old headmaster that way.

"He's not staying there." She resolute firmly, "This is getting ridiculous. The Dursleys will stay here for all I care, he's not being alone with them again. I'm through with Harry coming back each summer lost of all the strength and happiness he left Hogwarts with."

Bill looked thoughtful for a second. "You know, he may be willing to hear that out. It satisfies the blood relative requirement without condemning him to a different evil."

Bill promptly popped out.

"Yes, all you need now is to get them to agree." She added wearily, then turned to her cooking.

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Stressed, Moira leaned her forehead against her clasped hands; elbows relentlessly resting rigidly against the amber toned table, in complete denial about what the man in front of her was asking. Five fruitful, confidant years were apparently just a ruse. He could tear her hardened, wisdom-saturated mind apart. It figured; he always could.

"Surely the mere thought doesn't create that much physical discomfort." He iterated sarcastically, gracefully taking a delicate sip of his tea after making the toneless observation.

She lifted her head slightly, in amazement. She let her fisted hands fall with a dull thud against the thick oak. "Don't you dare try to take that tone. Demanding-"

"Hardly a demand." He interrupted coldly.

"No, you're exactly right. More of an ultimatum."

"You're being ridiculously American." His face contorted to emulate the abhorrence his voice held as her took another meticulous sip.

"What? For calling the facts as they are?"

His tea slammed to the table in a swift, uncharacteristic outburst. His voice didn't divulge his fury, however. Years of ignorant, pompous, bigheaded brats assured him that much dignity at least.

"For exaggerating a simple request, all the while acting like a spoiled two year old. You're supposed to be, what? Twenty eight?"

"You know how old I am Severus." She snapped flippantly. "You made it _quite_ the point."

"Indeed." He snapped right back conceding, feeling the very age he had just accused her of, "And you can be completely assured, if I had saw this side of you-"

"Rich of you Severus. Aren't you a little old to make empty threats? It's over. For five years. I don't need to hear your sniveling, snide, backhanded, bitter attempts to try and insult me enough to refuse."

"Really Moironna. How are you ever going to convince anyone this is a sane country when you sprout such vivid imaginative paranoia to every old friend offering employment? Obviously I wouldn't be here if my intentions weren't to bring you back with me."

Moira eyed the infuriating man, edging back her growing annoyance. He uttered the pristine sentence intended to chide her effortlessly, and somehow managed to interject the very opposite in every encompassment of his demeanor. What he really said was, of course he was insulting her, and he had absolutely no intension of ever breathing a word to her after today. Moira rolled her eyes. Time certainly didn't change stone.

"That act doesn't hold up for a second. You're here because he told you to be here-- and you fussed, and you grumbled, and scowled. But in the end; he told you to come here, to ask this of me. So here you are. I never would have imagined that the most genius mind turns to lap dog at one man's biding."

She knew what buttons he didn't like pushed, and she effortlessly pushed all of them purposefully. If he was going to play that game he'd better be ready for her to throw fire right back at him. She wasn't the naïve, compliant girl he had encountered just a half a decade back ago. He wasn't allowed to waltz in here for free. She had traveled thousands of kilometers to get away from him. Cost her a big chunk of happiness that she had once taken for granted of, not to mention a whole, disgusting lot amount of chocolate. Cost her a job she had positively adored, around people she had known her whole magical life. Her only aspiration every year in that enchanted school was to stay there for ever. And he had ripped that away from her. It sure as hell was going to cost him a few bitter words.

"I informed you as to why I have come." He ground out, "The headmaster merely agreed upon my suggestion; a suggestion, I'll have you know, which never would have been-"

"You're repeating yourself now. We've already covered this. And nothing on this earth, you lying snake, would make you be here unless the all-knowing headmaster asked you to be here."

"It's a yes or no answer Moironna. There's no need for all this American drama you've seemed to become quite keen upon." He retorted abruptly.

"Yes, go back or have you demonstrate to ten year olds what the dark arts are. Not much of a choice, you must admit, if I had any hope for any of the future generation."

She saw him shiver and a slow smile drew across her features.

"Perhaps I was mistaken. I forgot your hatred of anybody with the last name of Weasley. And to think of him in control of all your precious potions." She drawled mischievously.

"That is quite enough." Suddenly Severus stood up and deposited a few coins reluctantly on the table. "I shall tell the headmaster that the idea was a failure, and to go ahead and send an owl to Mr. Weasley."

Moira laughed, amazed. Just when you thought the ostentatious jerk couldn't get worse. That was really it?

"You fool, sit down. We're not done scrutinizing this. It is so much _fun_."

"No, we are quite through. I'm not going to sit in somebody's warped attempt of what a proper tea shop should be-"

"The tea's fine Sev." She recklessly laughed.

"And swap words back and forth to see who can add the last syllable. It's ridiculously pointless." He pushed in his chair and she rolled her eyes up waiting for it.

"I'd win." He affirmed haughtily a few moment latter, backing away form the table finally.

"Then of coarse; go right ahead. Bon voyage and best of luck on your trip home, and all that civil stuff exes should be able to civilly say to each other. Though personally, I think Dumbledore will find it particularly strange when he receives your reputable report; then finds me on his doorstep, so to speak, two days latter."

"You're not seriously considering it." He edged out stochastically, managing to fill it with his discomfort and plain despise of the situation.

"Careful. It would almost seem as you don't want me." She advised acerbically.

He scowled in returned, which oddly added a weird normalcy to their interaction. "Well, are you coming or not?" He uttered the words exasperatedly, after a few moments.

"You are the most infuriating man I have ever met. There are things I need to take care of. Tell Dumbledore I accept his generous request, and I'll arrive Monday around noon."

"Splendid." He concluded flagrantly. "Hogwarts will await you're arrival."

She watched him stiffly leave. "Yes, and theirs too." She whispered.

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Special thanks to Crimkid for putting up with me and everyone who wrote in their two cents to the comments page. Makes me feel so loved, and urges me to sneak a spiral into work so I can write more. This chapter was way too long for me to want to upload it all at once (I hate editing) so I split it up. Good news is that the next one's done, and just needs major spell check work, so I'll have it up in a few days. I promise to keep the updates coming!


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